i got Clay Walker's sweat on me.

I promised you and myself that Friday night would be epic, and alas, children, epic it was. We loaded up in the boyfran's car and headed over to the big country bar where he was playing, at an appropriately early time. Like really, the time when the old scary people who take line dance lessons all week and show up at 8pm to Boot Scoot Boogie are there. But before we got there, we all found ourselves desperate for un baño, so we stopped at CVS.

Let me give you a little background about this particular CVS. It is in the absolute worst part of town one could ever hope to find oneself in at 9pm on a Friday night. Or really, at any time, any day or night. I was really surprised when Skippy the pharmacy drone let us into the locked hallway where the bathrooms are in the first place.

Lawyer School is over by this particular CVS and thus I have found myself stopping at various places in those parts for coffee/gas/a honey bun and having to pee (because that's about every 3.4 seconds) and getting really annoyed when the clerk is all "We don't HAVE a bathroom." But I guess if people were doing the crack in my bathroom, I'd go all private on it too. But, perhaps since there were four of us, perhaps since PB is a rather imposing person and Skippy looked like a Weeble, or perhaps because I had on a whore island skirt, we were allowed access into the inner sanctum that is the CVS bathroom.

And in that inner sanctum, was the following (2 page!) note on both the wall over the toilet and the inside of the door by the paper towel dispenser. I particularly like the guilt trip at the end about the poor overworked CVS employees.

Then we were on the way out and someone was standing in front of the cash register, talking to her friend, the clerk. The conversation went something "Man he got SHOT over here, his belly was all laid open like SHPLOEKWOWWW [insert gesture of making a 6 inch hole in her abdomen.}" And so, we left the CVS on that note.

We got to the bar, and I was quite pleased to see the fabulous Mr. Walker's bus and band trailer right there in the parking lot, ready for photo opportunities. See? I'm real excited (and also sweaty, partially because I am throwing myself at a sketch of Clay Walker, partially because it is 900 degrees and humid out.)

When we got inside, we ran to the beer cart and then were immediately excited to see that there was pretty much no one in front of the stage and that we could totally be at least second row if we wanted. So J and I practically hog tied PB and her fiance and camped out there with our beers. Except for how we got tsk-tsked by one of the 4 million bouncers who clearly think they have a really important Public Safety Career, because apparently one can't have alcohol on the dance floor? So, tails between our legs, we stood awkwardly near the dance floor while we had one more beer, and then J and I could take it no longer, because those old ladies were not going to get between us and Clay.

We ended up very sober and on about the third "row," though it was just a clump of randomsters standing about. I nearly had to take a few bitches out, however, because a) I NEEDED TO BE NEAR CLAY and b) we all stood there for a whole hour, beer-free, before he even took the stage and I was not letting some little hussy by me who had been back by the bar enjoying the adult beverage of her choice the whole time. There was definitely some awkward shoulder-wrestling as I tried to play defensive line and keep those hofaces back where they belonged (though a few slipped through the cracks, I was largely successful in this effort.)

And see how close we were?! AMAZING TIMES. If sober times. But I mean it's kind of like pre-gaming for church, it just felt wrong to be drunk in front of Clay anyway. Also I think while he was flinging his towel into the crowd, some of his sweat got on me. Of course, so did a lot of OTHER people's sweat, which was super gross times. Not as bad as the scary, 300-lb. meth-mouth man with patchy facial hair, huge man-boobies, and his shirt alllll the way unbuttoned who rubbed all over J the whole time. Oh, and who also lit up a cigarette while people were literally pressed against each other!

Don't you wish you could have high-class nights like me?

apparently I do monthly blog posts?

Yeah, I'm in the middle of exams, I am generally lazy, and oftentimes, when I open this thing up to do a blog post, it feels too much like homework. So, there are my excuses. I hope you liked them.

I am a big nerd, no joke. I like reading, I like grammar, I knit, I listen to NPR. I could make quite a long list of reasons why I am a giant nerd. But this whole Star Wars Day thing? That is too nerdy to be tolerated. Lia kept seeing facebook/gchat statuses proclaiming "May the 4th be with you," and upon her diligent Wikipedia research, she determined that this was related to the horrifying nerdiness that is a Star Wars holiday. Guys, let's bring the turbo-nerd stuff down a notch. That is just TOO MUCH.

Since my last monthly post (I swear I'll be better about that after next week), was about orange cake, and I didn't give you the recipe, I will today! Consider it my gift to you. It turns out amazing, it did not crumble into 938475893 little crumbs when I cut it, and best of all, YOU USE CAKE MIX. Folks, I am not ashamed of cake mix recipes. Let me tell you, cake that you make with a cake mix turns out more moist (even though I hate that word) and delicious than anything you can throw together with butter and flour.

So, without further ado, here is the recipe for fantastical orange cake:

Cake Ingredients:

• 1 box orange supreme cake mix (Duncan Hines is the best)
• 1 small box orange jell-o
• 1 cup water
• 1/3 cup vegetable oil
• 2 eggs

Filling:

• 1 16 ounce container sour cream
• 2 cups sugar
• 1 orange (juice and pulp) OR 1/2 cup orange juice with pulp (that's what I did)

Icing:

• 1 cup filling mixed with 1 8 or 12 oz. container of Cool Whip

Directions:

• Ignore the ingredients on the cake box and mix above cake ingredients together, blending well. Bake in 8-inch round pans as according to directions on cake box.
• Cool layers completely (SERIOUSLY, they have to be totally cool) and split layers.
• Mix filling ingredients, and spread generously between layers as you stack them. Reserve one cup filling for frosting.
• Frost with cool whip and one cup filling, mixed together.
• Let sit in refrigerator for at least 24 hours before cutting. Refrigerate any leftovers.

I have to get through my PR exam on Thursday, but on Friday, I am SO EXCITED to be going to see Clay Walker in concert. Most of you are probably scratching your heads. But for some reason, when I was little (and I mean little little, like 5) I developed a terrible, unhealthy crush on Mr. Walker. You just watch that video and learn why my little 5-year-old heart had to have him. Or just get really disturbed, whichever. Anyway, I am feeling like I might get there 5 hours early and stand next to the stage and pant a lot until he comes out. And then I'll ask him to marry me and promise to have his babies and wash his underwear.

I'll let you know how that goes/what PB thinks of all these shenanigans, since he'll be there too. Maybe it will be a big fight between PB and Clay. Actually, that's kind of hot. Maybe I'll bring chocolate pudding and set up a wrestling ring. CLEARLY FRIDAY NIGHT IS GOING TO BE EPIC.

in which there is CAKE!

Today is PB’s 23^rd birthday! God, 23 seems old, even though I’m 22. 23 seems too close to MID-TWENTIES, and I am so not ready for that. But at any rate, today is The Day, and so I spent yesterday afternoon creating a birthday cake. Like a real cake, one with layers and everything, mainly because I feel sheet cakes are only alright if they are from K-Mart (yes, K-Mart) and whipped cream icing, and I didn’t feel like risking my life at K-Mart to get said birthday cake. I just cannot bear the old sheet cake you threw together in a foil pan (unless it is a Paula Deen butter cake and unless it had to travel 6 hours in a car to get to its destination like Lia’s cake did). I just think it looks like Fido’s hind end.

To begin the process of birthing The Real Cake with the Layers and Everything, I first put on my fantastic apron that I got for my birthday from my dear friend J.

Mainly, an apron is a confidence booster, because who wouldn’t feel like Betty Flippin’ Crocker in that getup? But also, I am not one of those people who can cook without making a giant mess. I don’t mean a few dishes in the sink, y’all. I am talking about dirtying up every dish and utensil in my kitchen because I will invariably pick up a spoon/knife/spatula, stick it in whatever sticky/messy mixture I am concocting, and then promptly decide that everything about it is just WRONG for what I need to do. Furthermore, I will make the stickiest, most terrible mixture in the world and then promptly get it on the walls, the floor, the counter, in my hair. It’s great. The apron helps with this. Minimally. But mainly, I feel fantastic whilst I wreck the kitchen.

Making the Real Cake with the Layers and Everything is a serious process, like I said, which makes it difficult for me because I am neither patient, nor do I have any sort of manual dexterity. One needs both of those things. First, I baked the layers, which smelled like delicious oranges (as it was an orange cake, that was not a screw-up). Then I let the cakes cool in the pans for a bit. But apparently for too long, because then, dammit, one of the cakes stuck to the bottom of the pan and OH NO, I thought it was all going to be ruined.

But I flipped them out onto wire racks, swore a few times, and everything seemed to be alright. I could cover that crap up.

Then the real test of patience comes in, in which I must wait for the cake to cool before I split the layers. Now this, my friends, might be easy for you, but for me (as I am clearly faint of heart), this is the true test. So I get out my fancypants Henckels serrated knife, and I take the plunge. I try to hold my mouth just right. And JUNK FALLS APART. I mean literally, there are cake crumbs on the counter, I am swearing at the cake, I am touching the cake for 2 seconds and then jumping back, afraid I am making it worse. Now children, there are no pictures of this part of the process because whilst I built those layers, the sweat was on. I ended up picking cake particles off of my (freshly cleaned) countertop and putting that cake back together like a jigsaw puzzle. I am hoping this does not result in absolute bedlam when I try to cut it tomorrow when we have people over for PB’s birthday.

But on the outside, it turned out beautifully:

I’ll let you know if it crumbles into a million and one pieces when I cut it. Fingers crossed!

Happy Easter Monday!

The lake was lovely. I can't say I really did anything to speak of while we were there - we didn't even go so far as to put the boat in. PB and I went down with some of our friends and my parents came down too, and it was pretty much sitting on the dock, and getting up to reload the cooler. The sunset was beautiful:

Then yesterday I was a heathen and didn't go to church for Easter, but that's because we go to a big church downtown, which is all nice and pretty and somewhere you'd want to go if you never go to church. So that means I'm sure there were 9 million and one people there, and that just takes away my Easter spirit and makes me want to start punching people.

So instead, I stood on the dock and flashed people! It was great, I walked down by myself, towel, soda, and Kindle in my arms, in what I like to refer to as my Little Mermaid bathing suit. It's one of those from the evil empire of Victoria's Secret, and it's a seafoam colored bandeau top with a seashell in the middle. And whilst I have all of this stuff in my arms, and am facing out toward the lake, my top just flies off of me. I don't mean it shifts downward a little, I don't mean it nearly comes off, I mean the thing FLIES OFF, and everything just pops out, kind of like when you open up a can of biscuits.

So I stood there stunned for a moment, and the guy on the jetski in front of me sat there stunned, and finally I threw the rest of my stuff down and picked up my top. It was a moment that made the baby Jesus happy on Easter, I'm sure.

Speaking of bathing suits (disjointed alert here), I am in love with the new Liberty of London stuff at Target. I may have to go procure a new bathing suit today.

This is my particular favorite. NEED. WANT. MUST HAVE.

Also, if anyone is looking for a good read to start off summer, here's my recommendation of the day:

Try The Motion of the Ocean by Janna Cawrse Esarey. It's a memoir about how she sails around the world with her new husband - it sounds weird and terrible, but it's got a very chatty feel, and she'll seriously take you to amazing places and make you want to buy a craptastic sailboat, grab your significant other, quit whatever it is you do, and go sailing forever.

It's already 76 degrees here, lovelies - I hope it's beautiful in your neck of the woods. Just call me Al Roker. Time to go out and enjoy the sunshine!

how to tell it's Friday

Here's how:

I open my giant bag at 9am to start out my day with constitutional law class, and lo and behold, there is a big bottle of wine in the bottom of it! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we tell it's Friday. I would like to tell you that I did this because I'll be pouring it in my travel mug and having moscato (yes, I only drink cheapie sweet wine) during class all day, but alas, I am not that cool. Junk was in my car yesterday - again, not because I am cool, but because it had escaped from a grocery bag or some such and I thought tossing it in my school bag would be a good way to get it into the house. Clearly though, I am not responsible enough to actually get it in the wine rack and thus, I have wine at school. A+ to me.

Last weekend, we went to DC for Lia's birthday! Turns out it also happened to be peak cherry blossom weekend, which was so pretty I nearly died.
I just heart this picture due to the miles of cherry blossoms behind us.

This weekend? It's lake weekend, y'all. Down here in the South (a word I usually capitalize), it is supposed to be EIGHTY flipping EIGHT degrees today and eighty-six tomorrow. This means my hind parts will be planted firmly on the dock, beer in hand.

Thank goodness that los padres have a lake house and don't mind me mooching off of it all the time. For now though, we'll see if I can resist cracking open the wine during professional responsibility, fight traffic home, and then start the weekend. Adios, chickies.

Elephantpants

Still in love love love with RuPaul's drag race. So glad that Tatianna didn't get sent home - much better for it to be that annoying Jessica Wilde, what with her using her accent as a crutch and generally annoying the snot out of me...and honey, A+ to you for trying, but you just have a man face and there is not enough makeup for that. Ain't gonna happen. Whereas Tatianna makes a much prettier girl than I could ever hope to be.

When we were in San Francisco, we went to this bar, AsiaSF, which is a lot like RuPaul's drag race, just in person. Oh, and there is "dinner" beforehand, which consisted of the teeniest little mini crabcakes and peanut chicken skewers you have ever seen. That, combined with the fact that there was a three drink minimum, meant that my non-liquor-drinking self was pretty inebriated by the time the drag queens actually took the stage. Well, or the bar (you know, much classier.) So that partially explains my appearance in the following picture. Well, that and my makeup/outfit are not nearly as fabulous.


Seriously, tell me they don't look for real. How do I look like that in an outfit? I could use some tips. Okay, y'all are all going to think I'm crazy what with all this drag queen talk. I am just filled with admiration, I can't help it.

Moving on. It's spring break! That means I'm going to see Lia on Thursday since her birthday is tomorrow!) Until then though, I'm at the office a lot. I wish I could blog about work, because there is always something good going on. I mean today alone I heard about a million quotes that would make a million good blog posts for y'all, but alas, I just cannot be one of those people who blogs about work. Too risky, I says.

However, I can definitely blog about DC! And every time we go, fantastic blogging material always ensues.

Hope you're all enjoying magical spring (because that is what I think of spring - it is made entirely of magic). My finches have arrived, I expect the hummingbirds any day, the daffodils are blooming and the tulips have started coming up! I know, I'm such an old lady. I have a big old-lady thermometer out on my screened porch, which I consult religiously, since of course I can't trust the big fancy tv-station weather, those city slickers certainly have different weather since they're 20 miles away. I must know the EXACT TEMPERATURE on my back porch. Now I just need a rain gauge and some tomato plants. No but seriously, I'm putting out tomato plants. I already seeded the basil yesterday. Can't wait.

You would think I had already been into the wine, due to the entirely nonsensical nature of this post. I have not, sadly. There is no excuse. I think it's just because it's spring, and things don't have to make sense in spring. I might get out my pink and blue elephant pants and wear them to the office tomorrow. And yes, I have pink and blue elephant pants. Just like those, right there. They're capri pants. I have worn them with a pink shirt. Now you can blackmail me with my blog. Oh and I still have them. And they're that print, all over. Even the butt pockets.

dolla dolla bills, y'all

You know what I think is the most ridiculous thing ever? This horse crap in which we have decided that things must have odd prices. Why did my cup of coffee cost $2.67 at the gas station this morning? Well, plus tax, another odd amount of change. This gives me the choice of either digging around in my wallet for the 86 cents or whatever it is, or taking the change, throw it in my purse, and then have that crap jingling around my wallet.

One of these days, when I am in charge of the world (which will of course one day happen), we are going to have nice, round pretty numbers for everything, tax included. Maybe instead of a new tv costing $789.49, it could just cost $800. I could shell out eight hundred dollar bills (ha! to have eight hundred dollar bills!) and walk out of there with my shiny tv.

Is this too much to ask? Maybe I am the only person who is annoyed to no end by this because I have an almost psychotic aversion to math. Like seriously, I hate even trying to figure out how much I should tip at a restaurant. I want to whip out the iPhone and start multiplying and adding in the calculator, or at least write out the addition all over the receipt. But of course I can't do that, because for heaven's sake, I have a DEGREE, and I am in fancy lawyering school, should I not be able to do a simple math problem? Clearly I should not have passed second grade. So then I try to sweat out the numbers quickly, so as not to have table full of people staring at me whilst the panic voice in my head goes "OMG, WHAT IS $15.89 x 20% AND THEN WHAT IS THAT TOTAL, ARGHHH!!?"

Then I scratch out something on the receipt, say a little prayer that it's right, shove the ticket back in the folder and leave, thinking to myself for the next several minutes, "Did I do that right? Oh no, I didn't do that right and now the total is wrong and what will the poor server do because I have done the math wrong and screwed them out of half of the tip they deserved and how could I do that, THEY DID A GOOD JOB."

It's always better when someone else pays.